


The times you weren’t here; with me

by Widow_Spyder



Series: The times you were here; with me [5]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Hatred, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Widow_Spyder/pseuds/Widow_Spyder
Summary: Without a light, spiraling into darkness just becomes a whole lot easier.





	The times you weren’t here; with me

John could feel it. He knew this would happen eventually. It always did. Yet he ignored that nagging little voice in his head and got attached. Like a lovestruck dog, he fell, hard.

But now the love of his life was gone. And John was more broken than ever.

Did he even have a choice? New Orleans and possibly the world or one person... He knew what had to be done, but that didn’t stop the pain that came along with it. A pain he was too damn familiar with.

~~~

_Des. Desmond Laveau. Great, great grandson of Marie Laveau. Owner of a quaint little restaurant in New Orleans. A regular, innocent, wonderful guy._

_John. John Constantine. Survivor of a horrible childhood, turning to magic as a distraction. A master of the dark arts, an exorcist and whatever the hell the rest of his business card said. A killer — a damned man who didn’t deserve love._

~~~

John went from laying in a comfortable, warm bed next to the love of his life to a hard and springy couch. All alone on a time-traveling ship with a crew of very “different” people. Different for better or worse; he had yet to figure that out.

Though some of the team were actually pretty — nice. Zari and Charlie especially. They knew what happened and they tried to help him fix it. Even when he made a drastic mistake and altered the entire timeline, nearly destroying it. They still tried to help.

~~~

_John was by himself at the apartment, while Des was at his restaurant, setting up for the day. Later, John would join him when the dinner specials rolled in, and they’d get to eat a good meal together. It was almost like a date night for them. Though, for now, he was stuck at their apartment to do his own thing._

_John leaned against the kitchen counter and took a sip from his bland cup of water. It was eerily peaceful in their quiet apartment. A feeling that would be too easy to get lost in._

_Of course, with his Constantine luck, it wouldn’t last. A bright light suddenly erupted in the middle of the apartment, blinding John who, honestly, wasn’t entirely surprised._

_He had sensed something magical arrive in New Orleans a couple days ago, but the source was weak and small, so he didn’t pay any mind to it. This “light” though, was a lot more powerful than the one he’d sensed before and could feel the hair on his neck start to stand up._

_The light dissipated entirely after a couple moments and in its place was a figure that stood a good few inches above him._

_A demon._

_It was wrapped in a long blackish green cloak that went to the ground where its feet were noticeably burning the carpet underneath._

_The demon looked human almost, except for the fact that its eyes were completely white and the energy it was radiating was anything but good._

_“John Constantine” The demon spoke in a low but loud voice. It was a common demon thing to talk like that, John noticed._

_“Random demon who popped up in my apartment,” John replied, adding in a hint of annoyance to his voice. He had to keep control of the situation, no matter what._

_The demon grinned; a foul smell escaping its mouth as it spoke. “I am known as Neron.”_

_John tensed as he immediately recognized the name. “Keep it cool Constantine, no reason to overwork yourself just yet,” John thought._

_“Neron. A soul collector...” John chided. “And, what does a soul collecting demon want with my soul, eh? I’m already bound to hell, no point in trying to make a deal with me, mate.” John moved around the kitchen counter and stood closer to Neron._

_“Oh, I don’t need to make a deal for your soul, Constantine.” Neron walked a few steps closer to John, making a game of dominance between the two. “I already own it. Don’t you remember?”_

_Well, now he did…_

_John’s memory went back to his time in hell. Somehow, between the midst of screaming, searing fire and searching, his soul had ended up in Neron’s clutches. At the time, it wasn’t John’s biggest concern and he, admittedly, forgot about it. He was going to hell anyway, what did it matter whether something had his soul. It was still going to the same place._

_“Do ya now?” John remarked._

_“Yes. And it’s “the” soul collector.” Neron growled, standing more defensively than he did before._

_“Ah, apologizes —”_

_“Enough. Stalling” Neron interrupted, his voice echoing throughout the apartment. The stench coming from Neron’s mouth made John inwardly cringe, It smelled like — well like, hell._

_“I need your help,” Neron claimed._

_“Yeah? And what exactly do you need my help for?” John asked. He had a feeling he knew where this was going to go._

_“The three beings that rule hell — the triumvirate, if you will,” Neron explained. “They need to get with the times... It’s time for a new ruling._

_“Your ruling?” John corrected. Yeah, better get a spell ready soon. John thought._

_“Exactly! I need your power to help me usurp their ruling and take over hell.” Neron asserted._

_John didn’t say anything; instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the bar stool. Usurping the three powerful beings that ruled hell? He’d heard about them during his visit and was told not to mess with them — actually, scratch that — he was told not to even mention their names! Did he also mention they were powerful?_

_John raised his eyebrows at Neron; a silent questioning on how he actually planned to do that._

_“Of course, there will be benefits for you as well,” Neron assured._

_Great, so he wasn’t getting an insight into the plan, that’s always reassuring.  
“Agree to help me, and I’ll detonate your soul’s deed with me. Disagree and well — I think you know what I’d intend to do.” Neron took another step forward, leaving burned footprints on the carpet._

_“So these benefits are either, helping you take over hell, which could very well destroy the earth as we know it.” John paused for effect. “Or not help you and have to deal with your bloody antics, the rest of my life as well as when I eventually get to hell?”_

_“To put it simply, yes.” Neron agreed. “Either way, you will get sent to hell. You just have the choice of seeing me ruling it or seeing me as your tormentor for eternity.”_

_John looked to the side and then back at Neron, contemplating his options — or at least, pretending to contemplate his options. Sure, helping Neron seemed like the good, selfish option out of the two but then again when did he ever help demons? His soul was going down either way._

_“So what do you say? Do we have a deal?” Neron held out his hand for John to shake. As if a simple handshake could bind a deal like that._

_“Hmm…” It was a tempting deal, he had to admit. To be tortured in hell forever or get a free pass with no torture; at least for the first couple of centuries._

_“No.” John scoffed._

_“Excuse me?” Neron growled. Like a child, it was getting angry when it didn’t get what it wanted._

_“Read the lips, you demon wank. Piss off!” John hissed._

_He fully expected Neron to erupt in rage. For things to fly around the apartment or to be attacked by the demon. He ran through the spell he had prepared in his head and was about to recite it when Neron suddenly backed away, an intensely calm look on his face._

_He was smiling._

_“Very well…” Neron's voice was back to normal as it slowly looked around the apartment and picked up the leather jacket that was thrown over the couch. Des’s jacket…_

_“He must be worth it,” Neron whispered. Another bright light strobed through the apartment and Neron was gone. Des’s jacket was on the floor._

_As soon as he couldn’t sense Neron’s presence, John bolted from his apartment. His shoes weren’t on correctly, and he was pretty sure he’d locked himself out with no key, but he didn’t care. John ran 6 blocks down the road, all the way to Des’s restaurant, not bothering to stop and take the breath his lungs ached for. That’s what happens when you smoke almost your entire life, you start to lose the ability to run far places, so fast._

_At one point, he nearly got run over by a car. He was in so much of rush, he didn’t bother to look if the walking sign was green or not. It wasn’t, and if the driver hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve been a broken mess on the side of the road. That didn’t stop him though, he ran to the other side of the street and continued his mad dash.  
John could vaguely hear the guy from the car yell at him to watch where he was going and what not, but didn't care. The yelling disappeared quickly as he rounded the corner and finally reached Des’s restaurant._

_He all but rammed himself into the door, finding it to be locked when he crashed into the glass, nearly breaking it. He frantically looked around the restaurant, trying to find Des._

_It wasn’t hard, Des had heard the loud noise from the entrance and quickly went to unlock the door when he saw John frantically panting outside of it._

_Once inside, John wrapped his arms around Des and started saying something in a weird language._

_“Woah, Woah Woah, hold on, Johnny. What’s going on?” Des worried. John was sucking in air with every ounce of strength he had while clinging to Des like a koala. The language he was trying to speak was coming out in desperate pants until John sagged in his grip and stopped talking. Des held onto him so that they both wouldn’t fall to the floor._

_“Des - you. Bloody. Hell…” John wheezed. If oxygen didn’t get into his lungs soon, he was pretty sure he’d pass out._

_“Hey, is everything alright?” Des asked, concern lacing his voice. He helped guide John to one of the booths and waited for John to catch his breath._

_“My job, Des,” John said, once he was able to breathe and not see double. “It’s come to bite me in the arse.”_

_“What?” Des asked, pouring a glass of water for John to drink._

_“It’s hell. Hell is after me.” John gulped down the water offered to him and then moved to stand up. His nerves urged him to move and keep moving. Des worriedly followed suit when John started pacing, a concentrated look on his face._

_“Johnny?”_

_“Des, you uh - you need to leave town,” John concluded. If Neron knew about Des, then he would most certainly use him to get what he wanted. Des had to get away before he’d get caught up and hurt._

_“This thing that’s after me, it’s no ordinary demon.” A part of John expected Des to want to stay and help him fight off the bastard. Instead, Des silently nodded in agreement and reached up to take hold of his necklace._

_“This medallion has been in my family for generations. It’s imbued with a protection spell.” Des said. He held out his necklace for John to take._

_John shook his head, he couldn’t take Des’s medallion. The guy never took it off._

_“Take it, Johnny” Des urged._

_“As long as you promise to leave town. Just until I get this mess sorted out alright? John relented. It was surprisingly easy to convince him to just up and leave town with no real explanation, but then again, John wasn’t going to question this._

_“Alright,” Des answered back._

_John took the necklace from Des and held it in his hand. He could feel the spell that was imbued in it; surprisingly heavier than he thought. It was a true gift of loyalty, perhaps._

~~~

John’s latest bottle of alcohol hung limply in his hand. He was laying back against the couch he called a bed, going over everything that had happened. He destroyed the timeline. Then destroyed it some more and messed everything up.

Honestly, it was a little too much for him. Now he was here, alone again after telling Sara what had happened and leaving her to her own.

John sighed, swallowing a couple more mouthfuls of the “temporary memory eraser.” Gathering his emotions with a bottle of bourbon was nothing new to him.

He went over the recent events again for the fifth time that hour.

He had seen… a lot of things. Weird things. Time now hardly makes sense to him anymore. Breaking it made it make even less sense than before.

A few key highlights? Cat Zari. Puppets. A ton of death and plaques. A terrible migraine. Des…

After a few ill attempts, Zari finally convinced him to fix time the right way and find a different way to save Des. So he did that. Fixed time and made everything go back to normal.

Only now he had to live with the fact that Des was again in hell. The memories of sending him making his head pound like before.

He could still hear Des’s screaming. Just like he could still hear Gaz’s screaming and Astra’s screaming.

God, it was painful.

He was hurting and wasn’t making it better with his bad habits, but it was all he knew what to do. He took another swig from the bottle, the contents not strong enough to burn anymore.

~~~

_John had tracked Neron to an old abandoned building on the other side of town. Once he got there, he entered and headed straight down to the basement._

_He reached the bottom and yelled out into the dimly lit rooms. “Alright, ya blighter! Let’s get this over with then!”_

_John wasn’t expecting an answer as he set down his bag._

_“Johnny.” A familiar voice surprisingly answered him back._

_“Des?” John turned around to see Des round a corner. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to go.” John angrily questioned. He was about to summon and exorcise a demon back to hell, Des couldn’t be there._

_“Please don’t be mad.” Des pleaded._

_John was confused. “Mad about what?!” He questioned._

_A bad feeling was starting to wash over him as he looked towards the items that were already placed on the ground. He looked back at Des, the truth struck him like a cold brick._

_“No,” John said, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t. He couldn’t have._

_“Johnny..” Des slowly walked towards him, the look on his face telling John everything. He didn’t believe it._

_“Desmond!” John seethed. “Look into my eyes and tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”_

_Des didn’t answer, and John thought he was going to be sick._

_“Tell me I’m wrong!” John yelled._

_“ I —”_

_John didn’t let him finish. He grabbed Des’s shirt collar and pushed him back into the wall._

_“Why?! Why did you do that!?” John fumed. He couldn’t believe it. Des sold his soul to Neron!_

_“For you, Johnny. For your soul.” Des admitted. He looked calm like he already resigned himself to the consequences. Like he was perfectly ok with letting Neron take him instead of John._

_“But my soul isn’t worth yours! I slay demons for a living, and you’re a cook!” John argued. “Neron isn’t going to keep his end of the bargain! He’s not going to save me!”_

_“Yes, he will. You don’t deserve hell, John, no matter what you think.” Des cupped John’s face with his hands, but John turned away, releasing his hold on Des._

_“And what then, you expect me to just move on, knowing you sacrificed your own bloody life for me?” John mumbled. His heart was swelling with the cold actions he was about to do. He could sense Neron’s presence, and it was right in front of him._

_“You know I love you.” Des tried comforting. “You’re worth everything to me.”_

_John bit his lip and looked up to the ceiling, trying in vain to keep his tears from falling._

_“I love you too, Des. Remember that, yeah.” John willed himself to say. He knew Des had heard him even though Neron was using Des like his personal puppet. He knew this was Neron talking to him instead of Des, which just made his heart hurt even more. Neron was a cruel bastard, like that._

_It took every little bit of strength he had to even speak again. The words falling off his lips, like they had dozens of times before. Except this time, the possessed weren’t going to make it out alive, and he knew it. He prayed that wherever Des was, he knew that this was the only way to protect the world. That his sacrifice wouldn’t be for nothing. That Des would forgive him one day._

_John's hands were on fire as he turned around and faced the man he loved._

_“Johnny?” Des or Neron gasped as he was starting to light on fire and being pulled back towards a hell portal._

_Des screamed as he was sucked into a portal on the wall and disappeared. The last thing he saw was John sending him to his demise._

_John collapsed to the ground, feeling hot tears roll down his face. Des was gone, and it was his fault..._

~~~

He killed the man he loved more than anything. He had killed one of his best friends, one of whom looked up to him. He had killed an innocent little girl and damned her to hell. He killed his own mother the day he was born.

The rush of memories came back again, and John felt the urge to have another drink. But he couldn’t since he’d already finished the bottle he had. He also didn’t really feel like getting up and grabbing a new one, so he laid further back into the couch. His body felt weighted and sickly. John was pretty sure with the number of times he’d drunk himself to sleep in the past few weeks, he was going to wake up with alcohol poisoning.

Come to think of it, he didn’t actually drink when he was held in the Time Bureau prison in that one messed up timeline. Did that count? If the timeline didn’t exist anymore, then it shouldn’t count, yet he still had the memory of it, which would mean — something.

Something, he wasn’t sure of — It would mean time is confusing; even more so than magic.

John felt his eyes close as his head regained the migraine it had before.

~~~

_He couldn’t remember how exactly he’d gotten back at his apartment._

_He couldn’t remember how he had gotten a hold of every alcoholic thing the apartment had._

_He couldn’t remember climbing inside the bathtub and drinking every last drop of the alcohols he picked up._

_He couldn't remember turning on the tap and letting the bathtub get filled with cold water._

_What he did remember was waking up with his clothes thoroughly soaked and shivering. His body was sore from awkwardly laying there for a long period of time. Every move he made, made another wave of dizziness hit him, halting all his efforts to get up. Water had spilled out onto the floor, and it took all John's hungover strength not to slip when he finally pulled himself out._

_He didn’t know what day it was or how long he’d been unconsciously soaking in a pool of ice water and spilled alcohol, but it was time to get out. His clothes were uncomfortably itchy against his skin._

_His face was wet even though he hadn’t put it in the water… John. Was. Crying. Every emotion hit him at once now that he was moderately sober and he sunk to the ground, letting it all out._

_He cried and yelled out and cursed and made noises he hadn’t made since Astra. Rolling up his sleeves, John raked his nails up and down his forearms. He didn’t even feel the usual sting as his fingers drew blood._

_Sitting on the ground, and scratching himself seemed better than drinking at the time and he spent a long while doing that. He was angry and upset. Not at Des, partly at Neron but mostly at himself. It was his fault. It was always his fault._

_“I love you, Johnny.” Des’s words echoed in his head, making him cry even harder. John couldn’t breathe nor could he see. The tears in his eyes were blocking his vision, and his voice was raspy and sore from the crying._

_He would’ve spent a longer time bawling while crouched on the bathroom floor but he heard a rattling sound, coming from his trunk. It was a strange sound that definitely shouldn’t be in his trunk, but to be honest, he barely knew what was in that damn trunk half the time anyway._

_Curiosity was a powerful thing, and John found himself limping — or more accurately, crawling — towards it. He opened his trunk and looked for the source. A clear jar with some bones in it, apparently, was the source. John used his sleeve to wipe away the blurriness from his eyes and read the label on the jar._

_The bones were those of some priest or saint that were supposed to warn of the presences of magical beings that weren’t initially from earth._

_John’s memory went back to when he fought a dragon and had to lecture the proclaimed legends about letting loose demons from other dimensions._

_The legends… They opened the door to the prison dimension and let demons and creatures out. If the barrier to hell and earth was thin before, then this action could’ve made it weaker than it already was. Which could be the reason Neron escaped in the first place._

_It was all the legends fault. John thought, as he got up and went to back to the bathroom. He cleaned himself up, packed his things and left. Making sure to straighten out the apartment and leave the keys at the apartment complexes front desk. John hailed a taxi and ordered the driver to bring him to the airport. He was going to Washington, D.C. and he was going to kill the legends._

~~~

He was dreaming, wasn’t he? Or at least — on his way to dreaming.

He could still feel the unforgiving upholstery digging into his back and had a general sense of his body, but everything around him was pitch black.

This would usually be how his nightmares started. Pitch black, not being able to see and then a rapid-fire reminder of his worst moments in life. Whichever memory appeared depended on his mood before he fell asleep.

This time, it wasn’t happening. He just laid in the silence and darkness, having no energy to move around and explore. It felt as if he could just fall asleep, in his own dream, right then and there.

Then things started changing. The couch underneath him turned to liquid, and he felt himself beginning to sink down.

He should feel some concern, shouldn’t he? Natural reflexes to prevent a possible drowning situation should be working through his nerves, right?

They weren’t; because John wasn’t scared. He was too tired to be scared.

So he rolled with it. Welcomed the feeling of strange liquid encasing his body — his face. It was strangely comforting.

In the way, way back of his mind, John’s logical sense told him this was probably a bad sign. That he should get help or something. But he wouldn’t. He was too far gone.

The last thing John recalled before fully falling unconscious was that he could no longer feel any pain.

~~~

_A few days later, John had booked a hotel room in D.C. and went about to tracking the time travelers leader. He still had a connection to Sara’s soul and could easily track her again._

_He headed out after getting a location and fully intended to take out everything out on her, but as soon as he arrived, all his anger deflated. Sara was at that Ava Sharpie’s house, and she was heading down the same path that he did a couple months back. The normal, domestic life with the person they loved..._

_John looked down to the ground and lit a cigarette. He had to gather his wits._

_What was he even doing there? To remind the legends to fix their bloody mess? To take out all of his frustrations from the past week on them?_

_It wasn’t their fault. They couldn’t have known that releasing Mallus would’ve led to Neron escaping from hell. How would they know? They weren’t experts on this. He was supposed to be the expert._

_John sagged his shoulders as the cigarette dropped from his mouth to the ground. His mind started spiraling again, as the ground swirled around his feet._

_He was the monster._

_A cold-blooded killer._

_Oh god, his father was right, wasn’t he? He’d always been right. John didn’t even have a chance. He was doomed to hell before he was even born._

_A monster_

_Demon_

_Murderer_

_Killer_

_“JOHN!”_

~~~

The first thing John registered as consciousness slowly came back to him was the cool pressure on his forehead. A rag he realized. Cold and wet and nice. He didn’t even notice how hot his body felt until now.

His head was also pounding behind his eyes and — wait a minute — didn’t he already fix time? Why was his brain split in two again?

“John?” A voice echoed above him, but it sounded far away. That couldn’t be right. Was everything that happened after he passed out in that office, a dream? Did he not fix anything after all?

“You with us?” The voice asked.

The voice was female, John concluded. Though there was no accent in it, so it wasn’t Charlie. Zari, maybe? No, it didn’t sound like her either.

He opened his eyes and stared back at the face hovering closely above his. John groaned as he was able to focus on the blob with blonde hair.

Sara.

“Hey” She smiled.

John offered a weak grin in return. He would’ve said something back, but he couldn’t quite concentrate well enough to do so. Everything was foggy and unclear. What the hell was in that bourbon?

“Gideon said you were developing a fever,” Sara answered that question for him.

Ah, so that’s why he felt like shit. John looked up to the ceiling and squeezed his eyes shut. He was pretty sure the room wasn’t supposed to be spinning like he saw it. It was making him unbearably dizzy.

“-bably residual side effects of your brain splitting with the timelines. Should wear off soon.” Sara’s voice cut through his head like knives and John groaned, turning away into the pillow that was placed under his head.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Sara whispered.

Fine

Except he wasn’t fine and he wasn’t going to be fine. He never was.

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t he be happy without something terrible happening? Nothing was ever fair for him, and he was tired of everything going sideways. He shouldn’t even be there. He should’ve been the one who died in that hospital room over 30 years ago instead of the wonderful women that was his mother.

Sara must’ve noticed John’s mind working against him because she suddenly took off the rag on his head which made John turn back towards her. It was cold on his overheated head, and he wanted it back.

“Hey, hey, relax.” She soothed. “We have your back on this, remember?”

John didn’t even try to answer, just stared at the cold rag in Sara’s hand.

“I have to re-soak it, just wait a couple minutes.” Sara stood up and walked to the table, where a bowl was set and filled with cold water. “Gideon prescribed you some sleep meds, by the way. They should be kicking in about now.”

John didn’t hear her. He was already halfway there.

Sara thoroughly soaked the rag again and walked back to the couch where John was already fast asleep. She placed the rag on his forehead anyway and went to leave the room.

“Gideon, keep an eye on him, will you,” Sara asked the ship’s A.I. once the doors closed behind her.

“Of course, Captain,” Gideon answered back. Sara left for the main room where the rest of the team were waiting to hear what happened and what they were going to do.

No doubt, there would be some reluctance in helping the exorcist, but that didn’t matter because they were going to help John no matter what.

John was a complicated being. He had seen more trauma in his age than any person would want to see in a lifetime. It was a surprise he hadn’t gone completely insane yet.

Or maybe he did; no one could know besides him. Because John never showed it, almost as if he was rushing to distract himself constantly to make sure the insanity didn’t catch up to him.

But that was the thing about him, he kept on moving like he always did. Because that was the only thing keeping him from losing his humanity.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaannnnddd that's it folks! This is the last fanfic in my "The times you were here; with me" series. I hope you all enjoyed it! I certainly enjoyed writing them! 
> 
> New fanfics for the fandoms: Legends of Tomorrow and Constantine(2014) will be arriving shortly!
> 
> Of course, I decided to end the series on an angsty note... Yeah, real sorry about that... 
> 
> Anyway! Thanks for reading this far and thank you even more if you read the entire series! :)


End file.
